


Misunderstandings

by Fanlan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Secret Relationship, not edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/pseuds/Fanlan
Summary: In 1967, Aziraphale and Crowley have been in a secret relationship since the Nazi incident in 1941. Aziraphale is expecting their first child and Crowley wants insurance in case Hell decides to attack his family, worried to upset Aziraphale, he goes through with the heist. While this occurs, Aziraphale meets Sergent Shadwell which leads down the road of a witch hunter thinking he is going to slay his first witch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckets_Of_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/gifts).

-1967-

It had happened on accident and it happened like the best mistakes occur, alcohol and unresolved feelings. It happened with gentle touches and sweet kisses and making up for lost times first on the couch then the chair and ending in the bed.

Accident or not it had happened and the weight of that was sinking in for the demon Crowley. Three years had passed since it occurred, but they weren’t human, and you couldn’t expect their tiny mistakes made through passion to pop out into the world so soon like the human’s accidents from too much alcohol and too little self-control.

It took time and time just made Crowley think, think on it deeper and longer then he had before. Thinking was dangerous business in itself but thinking on little accidents tended to turn thoughts into land mines. Each little word, each sentence willing to explode in his head as he delved into what could be the unknown consequences for a simple mistake.

He glanced at Aziraphale, it could be any day now or it could be another three years, but Aziraphale was starting to show and he was finally forming the baby’s physical form and not just its essence now. 

He cuddled closer to Aziraphale, who slept soundly on his end of the bed, just as prim and proper in sleep as he was in wake. Turned towards the window, soaking in the moon light, posture perfect as ever, head poised perfectly in the middle of the pillow and chubby fingers gripping his growing midsection.

Crowley rested his own hand atop Aziraphale’s, the worry kicking in, they were going to be parents, they would have one more thing to hide. They had gotten lucky; Gabriel was a terrible boss and only showed up every hundred years it seemed and only sent in notes on what miracles he wished for his angel to do and what was expected of him this century. So, heaven hadn’t noticed the change in Aziraphale.

Crowley was beginning to fear they wouldn’t always get so lucky with Hell, they were always lurking around corners, he needed to protect his family anyway he could.

Last he had asked Aziraphale for Holy Water, it became a fight, Crowley couldn’t lose the angel again, not after the past twenty years. He was never going back to being without him again, it was just out of the question now.

;

Crowley had an impressive pedigree in the underground of London, a lot of it had to do with bending mortals minds and tempting others to build this reputation. He was a dangerous figure that was said to have a fair share of blood on his hands (not entirely untrue), a violent temper not to be trifled with (not as true as you would think), and a way of getting what he wanted, willing to do whatever to get that (absolutely and entirely correct). 

The Old Coffee House was an old haunt, he had been here when it was built around the time Aziraphale got his book shop, he needed an excuse to keep coming to Soho and he found it in a pub to seduce politicians. It had once been in a gridder part of Soho but now it had cleaned itself up and was going for the ‘historical area’ nonsense for a boost in tourism.

The employees didn’t pay him much mind as he stepped into the section closed off to the public, a little sign saying ‘employees only’ didn’t phase him. He stepped into the backroom and sat down waiting for the criminal gang he had round up.

Sally and Spike showed up on time and he was able to simply and easily give them their roles, the cat burglar and the muscle to keep anything from going pear side. He paused when someone he didn’t recall inviting stepped in, a young and stout man in a secondhand army jacket and the sense that he had been sleeping of the streets with his unshaven face and strong odor. 

He was Narker’s replacement it seemed, Narker never had much of a backbone, always worrying about nonsense as morality and Crowley should have seen this coming really, he had become a born-again Christian in prison. Stealing from a church, a very specific church Crowley knew had been blessed by the archangel Michael some three hundred years back and holy enough to give only the holiest of holy water, would cause conflict with his ‘religion’.

Bunch of nonsense, Narker had been marked down in Hell’s books since he shook hands with Crowley and agreed on his first job with him, little late to be worrying about his after life!

Strange one Shadwell was, spouting nonsense about witches right off the back and sounding just as mentally unwell as he looked.

Poor bastard, Crowley thought to himself on the drive home, didn’t matter how many damn witches he killed, his soul was damned just the same as any mortal who shook a demon’s hand and agreed to their terms.

;

Aziraphale was up when he walked in the door on the penthouse, sitting in his reading chair by the window and lost in his own thoughts as he ran his hand along his stomach. He hadn’t gotten dressed, still in his 18th century pearl white sleeping gown and matching little night cap. The only thing modern about him was the pink bunny slippers.

“Back to bed,” Crowley grunted to him, no real force in the demand, he was too busy marveling at the way the moon light made his angel’s skin glow. How his eyes seemed plucked from the night sky as they gazed lovingly at him.

“Can’t sleep when evil is afoot,” he chastised him, glancing back out the window.

“Good doesn’t relent until evil is vanquished,” Crowley chuckled bending down and nuzzling against Aziraphale’s stomach, the warmth of their child’s essence made him melt into it, “Evil is vanquished for now, this depraved soul has decided to rest, so your fair one should do the same.”

Aziraphale grunted, an argument buried somewhere in it, but there was no fight as Crowley hauled him up and led him back to bed.

;

Aziraphale preferred leaving on his own to his shop in the morning, for one it was far less suspicious if it was just him if anyone came on an unexpected visit and two, Crowley’s driving made him queasy and vomiting wasn’t something Aziraphale enjoyed.

It was a twenty-minute walk, but it wasn’t uncomfortably long. It was relaxing to walk, and it often helped the baby calm down. No strange twinges of emotion or forming magic from them, no harsh kicks from their growing form, they were relaxed during their walks.

Aziraphale liked to hum during these walks, it got him strange looks at times, but it was hardly the stares he got when he used to talk to his child during the walks. The walks were about comfort and comfort was something both baby and father enjoyed quite a lot. Humming Mozart, drumming his fingers to the imagined beat on his stomach, and intaking the lovely blooming Spring flowers from the public park he had decided to detour in today. 

It would have been much more pleasant if it weren’t for the rude man screaming in the park today about witches. A brutish looking young man who didn’t look like he showered much on his soap box and hard to ignore with that booming voice. He had a picket sign that read “Join the Witch Finders”.

A young, foolish looking boy was staring at him with large fearful eyes behind large well-worn and taped together glasses. Aziraphale knew the boy, his name was lost to him, but he knew his mother well. Mrs. Thomson, she worked in the bakery he was a regular at, they were down on money after the father walked out cold turkey four years prior and were barely getting by.

Aziraphale knew a scam when he saw one, a man using fear and insecurities to draw in foolish young folk and forcing them to join something they would regret later out of their desperation.

Clearing his throat, he interrupted the crazed man as he was ‘sealing the deal’ about to shake hands with the young man and recruit him into his witch army. Aziraphale had never heard of anything so preposterous in his existence, witches were hardly a problem for anyone’s day to day life, they were just mortals who studied the occult, to varying degrees of accuracy. That was like making an army against paleontologists, they were hardly accurate on their assumptions and expertise but that didn’t mean they needed to be eradicated.

“Excuse me,” he said politely but had a firmness in his voice that demanded attention, “But if I may ask, what are you getting this young man into?”

“Weren’t talking ta ya, Nancy boy,” the assumed general of this army sneered Aziraphale’s way, “I was talkin’ to the future soldier in her majesty’s finest army.”

“Her majesty already possesses an army and they do a bit more then spread fear and panic of made up enemies,” Aziraphale snidely commented, while one shouldn’t have complete trust in the military or the government due to the demonic influence behind them, they hadn’t been burning poor and innocent women at the stake in a good three hundred years. So no, this man wasn’t officially serving her majesty.

Gently he placed his hand on the young man’s thin shoulder, taking pity on his secondhand clothing that barely fit and the uneven haircut his mother had likely given him.

“You are under eighteen aren’t you, dear heart?” he asked gently, and the young man nodded deflating, trusting Aziraphale.

“Fifteen, Mr. Fell,” he mumbled recognizing him instantly and Aziraphale nodded.

“Then you aren’t old enough to join any army, but I could always use an extra hand in the shop if you are looking for work that isn’t fraudulent.”

The boy mumbled a thank you to Aziraphale for stepping in on his behalf before practically bolting from the scene.

Aziraphale gave the man one final glare before continuing on his way, ignoring his loud and incomprehensible accusations of Aziraphale being a ‘witch defender’. An intense pain drifted through him, the baby was scared and was hitting against his parent. Aziraphale began humming loudly and running soothing circles across his stomach the rest of the way to the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

As far as heists went, Mr. Crowley was notorious for making the strangest ones. They paid damn well (if you lived to see your paycheck) but they were odd. Something not entirely right about them, something that sent chills up your spine. The type of jobs horror movie protagonists embarked on and found themselves sucked into the pits of hell for setting foot somewhere no mortal should tread.

“What’s it we stealing again, Sal?” Spike asked glancing from the road to his companion. His quite literal partner in crime. She pursed her perfectly painted lips and ran her fingertips over her beehive hairstyle, pushing the stray strands back in place.

“Holy water.”

“Holy water…” Spike echoed griping his enormous fingers tighter around the steering wheel, something not sitting proper in his stomach.

“From a church…”

“From a church,” Sally confirmed popping open her clutch bag and pulling out a pack of cigarettes with a faded bloody handprint on them, best not to think about how that got there. She put two between her lips and lit them up with her solid gold lighter that had her name engraved in it, Sally was all about silly things to make her look like a Bond Villain, never liked the idea she would be forced into place as Bond’s love interest.

“Don’ts they give that out for free?” Spike mused taking the offered smoke.

“If’n ya just ask, yes, most priests just give ya the stuff,” Sally confirmed once more thoughtfully inhaling smoke.

“Then whys we breaking into a bloody church for it?” it just wasn’t sitting right with Spike, a brick of anxiety was settling inside him.

“Yer job ain’t to think love, best not start it now,” Sally chuckled playfully and wouldn’t talk anymore on the subject making Spike gnaw on his own thoughts and anxieties in silence. Something weren’t right about this, they had a witch hunter on their team, they were stepping into the supernatural.

He thought of old Narker, how he turned himself in to the police, how he went from the nastiest son of a gun you ever laid eyes on with his large muscles and bowie knife he kept out on display to him turning to the lord in prison.

Something weren’t right about any of this, but it wasn’t his job to question or think, all he was, all he would ever be, was the muscle who got paid well.

;

“Crowley.”

Crowley had been looking over a case file, the nonsense Hell sent him this decade trying to get him to turn over more potential revenue, but instantly set it aside seeing Aziraphale step into his office. He looked nervous as if he had been building himself up to say whatever was on his mind, his hand on his stomach, a little plumper then normal but not enough for his clothing to no longer fit properly. 

Crowley willed the throne he sat in away from the desk and patted his thighs welcoming his love to take a seat, a satisfied smirk rested on his face as his love did just that.

“Our child is feeling a bit down,” he finally mumbled placing Crowley’s hand on his stomach. 

“It’ll get used to the feeling,” Crowley chucked, “It’s a demon spawn, normal for it.”

Aziraphale made a face and shook his head firmly.

“It’s just that when they become unsatisfied in any way,” Aziraphale began already becoming flustered, trailing off before starting his sentence over again, “Not that I am trying to make our child sound like a burdensome customer, I meant more like when they aren’t enjoying themselves.” 

He cut his own ramblings off with a tiny cringe, holding his stomach tighter and Crowley instantly shot his other hand over Aziraphale’s.

“It becomes uncomfortable for me,” he found himself finishing with a huff.

Crowley must have seemed unsympathetic the way he snorted with laughter and began to playful nip at the base of his lover’s neck, not taking his claims too seriously. His angel was spoiled and his child was already spoiled, he would find himself with his hands overflowing with wants and needs before long.

Crowley decided to be bold in his riling, lightly spanking his palm against his love’s stomach, watching his fat jiggle in amusement. He slid his hand under the angel’s dress shirt and squished his hand into the fat, letting the warmth absorb into his cold fingers making Aziraphale squirm.

“You are making them riled up!” he spat crossly trying to get up but Crowley’s other arm snaked around him, keeping him in place, holding him tight but not uncomfortably so, against him. His breath hitting against the angel’s neck a moment before he playfully continued nipping, making the angel caught between melting in pleasure and wiggling in annoyance.

Lightly, he began tracing his fingertips over the stomach, loving the way his angel wiggled hard, biting his lip to keep out the laughter from the tickles.

“Just showing Jr here daddy doesn’t take this nonsense, there are consequences to back talk and giving attitude to you, angel.” 

He made him wiggle a few moments longer, like a worm hooked on his life before pulling his hand away, deciding they had enough, kissing Aziraphale on the cheek pulling his hand out from under his shirt. 

He allowed Aziraphale to lean against him, watched him go from huffing in annoyance deciding if he should give Crowley an earful to just nuzzling against Crowley. Curls brushing against his cheek as Aziraphale settled on his shoulder, seemingly content.

“Spoiled brat, the both of you,” Crowley grumbled in mock annoyance, “Always wanting and wanting. Ought to bend you over my knee more often to get these ideas out of yer head that a servant of hell is just gonna jump to yer every need.”

“As you quite know dear, I quite like it when you spoil me by not sparing the rod.”

Crowley shouldn’t have taught him to tempt, he was almost too good at it with those baby blue eyes shimmering with mischief.

“Bath then bed, dear?”

Crowley wasn’t going to win with Aziraphale looking at him that way, so he snarled, nudging Aziraphale off him with a push of his hand. He sneered at his angel and grumbled something about spoiling him but let him drag him off.

His family came first, not even Hell would make them come second. Crowley felt that fear in his stomach, he needed his insurance yesterday, but he had to wait an entire week before the heist would start.

;

Shadwell had already spent his hundred pounds in advance on things to kick start getting the Witch Hunters back their feet and was already tight on cash with his rent coming up.

He couldn’t wait for Crowley to give him the rest of the share of the cash or he would be out on the streets again and out of his second chance apartment. He used his last coins on coffee and a bagel for breakfast that morning before going out to look for an odd job or two.

He hadn’t wanted to get back in crime, not after discovering the Witch Hunter Army from Narker in prison but he wouldn’t be able to start up the army again without funding and the best way to get funding was through Crowley. Narker warned him how dangerous the man could be, but Shadwell wasn’t afraid of that, he only cared about his endless bank account. 

He stomped through an older Soho neighborhood, quaint little place that had a lot of history behind every shop.

He stopped snarling at the little book shop ‘A.Z Fell and Co’, Fell, that was the name of the witch defender from the other day. He spat a large a large chunk of meat that had been lodged in his teeth at the door, pansy hadn’t even bothered opening his shop yet and it was lunch time.

He was about to walk into the repair shop with the ‘Help Wanted’ sign hanging on the window when he paused glancing into the shop’s window.

Fell was standing on a little stool inside, reading a book in one hand and snapping his fingers with the other. It wouldn’t have been so odd if it weren’t for the fact that the pile of books near his feet was going down and those books were filling the shelves.

Shadwell pressed his face against the glass watching the man tilt his head inspecting the shop, mumbling something to himself and shaking his pale blonde hair that was almost glowing. There was something inhuman about this one and Shadwell couldn’t have imagined the book pile going down, could he have?

He shook his head stepping away from the shop, he would keep an eye on him and do some proper tests to see if he was a witch or not later. Now he needed to get some extra cash in his pockets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> making the chapters short so i can hopefully update daily.

“Let me give you a lift.”

Aziraphale looked appalled by the suggestion, Crowley didn’t know whether to chuckle or be offended his angel was so against him giving him a ride to his shop. He would have thought he would be relieved; his angel had never been one for physical exercise, avoided it when he could. 

“I can get there just fine,” Aziraphale huffed not glancing away from the large gothic 16th century standing mirror Crowley had hand crafted for his former manor (it had been burned to the ground after he had been accused of witch craft, only sparse pieces of furniture remained from his period as a French aristocrat).

“Darling, its raining,” Crowley huffed, biting his tongue to not say anything cross to his foolish angel, he and their child becoming upset was far from what he wanted.

“We like the rain,” he stated simply tightening his bow tie, “Its very relaxing to walk in. It gives us time to collect our thoughts.”

“You mean your vapid thoughts,” Crowley snarled, the baby from his understanding had very baby like thoughts. Loud noises were scary and put them in distress, Aziraphale upset confused them and made them antsy, calm little voices and humming put them at ease.

Aziraphale gave Crowley his nastiest look as he turned around but didn’t say anything, rubbing circles around his stomach as he walked towards the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove.

“Why are you so insistent its less dangerous for me to ride in your car? You go so fast it always puts us in distress.”

Crowley just glared at his angel’s back as he prepared their morning tea and coffee. Outside the rain was picking up, pitter pattering against the window, wind picking up and thunder rumbling. This was demon weather. Not Crowley’s weather, he could get much more done on a sunny day when mortal’s guards were down, but this was Hastur and Ligur’s weather. The kind they lurked in, the kind they hunted in.

The kind of weather that made them bold seeing an angel walking alone, unprotected, with a strange aura about him. Made them brave enough to risk going against charters and set rules between heaven and hell and drag a lone angel to the depths of Hell without written permission.

The kind of weather where war crimes seem worth it on an angel Heaven isn’t particularly fond of and doesn’t keep the closest eye on.

“Why must you go to the shop anyway?”

Aziraphale set the cup of coffee in front of him on the table before taking his usual spot on his right. 

“It is my front and my post,” Aziraphale said primly taking a measured sip of his drink, “If I get a heavenly notice and I am not there, that is treason.”

He pursed his lips and ran his finger delicately across the wings on his favorite mug, gathering his thoughts a moment.

“And more importantly, what if some ruffian were to break into my shop? I am leaving my books unattended and vulnerable.”

Crowley swallowed his coffee thickly and firmly kept his mouth shut. His books. He was worried about his books. Of course, not a bit concerned about his own well fair and not taking a minute to think about how he was carrying their child, no it was his books he was thinking about.

“I am giving you a ride and that is final,” he sneered towards Aziraphale who finally huffed giving up at the sharp pain from their child’s distress. It was best to give in before they risked harm to parent or child.

;

Rain was witches weather. The kind of weather they conjugated in. The perfect weather to lure babies from mothers in. The perfect weather to conspire and plot and brew potions in. The kind of weather Shadwell had to be most alert and vigilant in.

Fell wasn’t proving his innocence outside his shop on the bench directly in front of Repair store Shadwell was working in. He got a nice view of Fell sitting with perfect posture and a little smile pointed towards the rumbling thunder. He couldn’t catch his words over the bristling wind as he stepped outside to get a better look at his target, but he saw he was talking to himself. Maybe cursing innocents or tempting the souls of the women of the neighborhood to sin.

“A little rain is nothing to be afraid of, darling,” he heard him cooing to himself as he made his way closer to him, “It’s her way of blessing the flowers to grow and the crops to flourish and once its over, She will always paint a rainbow in the sky sharing her love with us.”

A crack of thunder and a small little chuckle from the strange, strange man. He must be thinking of the evil he could do and the poisons he could concoct.

“That’s just your family saying hello from above,” he said but his smile dropped at that, “I wish I could introduce you to them, but they wouldn’t understand. Gabriel tries, he gives me my space and never forces me to conform but he is still disappointed.” 

A spat among the coven it sounded like to Shadwell, he glared harder watching the witch raise his umbrella. He had been soaking wet from the storm moments before but once the umbrella rose, he was dry, as if it had been up the entire time protecting him from the storm.

Their eyes met as the witch turned around and Fell greeted him with a good afternoon that wasn’t returned, and both left each other with a huff.

Shadwell would have to look into the proper way of disposing of witches, he was new to this game, but he knew deep in his soul that one was a witch. He needed to be laid to rest not just for the sake of humanity but for the fate of Fell’s own mortal soul.

;

Rainy days were neither for witches nor demons nor any sort of supernatural mumbo jumbo for Spike. The raindrops weren’t blessings to him as they were to Aziraphale and he felt no comfort being out here in this weather.

Rain was a disadvantage, an easy way to lose his footing in a fight, easy way to be blinded driving over ninety in the city streets. Rain was cumbersome and annoying. The only thing you could do on these days is drink and collect your thoughts and he did just that.

He watched Mr. Crowley enter the pub, his suit perfectly pressed and not a strand out of place of his stylish hair despite the weather. He stepped towards the bar and ordered, he flirted with the young woman behind the bar a minute, leaning in close and making her giggle. He took his drink without any more fan fair and Spike saw the heart break in the young lady’s eyes.

“Why did you call me all the way down here?”

It wasn’t a question; it was a demand. His employer wasn’t pleased he had asked him to meet him down here but nothing about this heist was sitting right with Spike. Was the pay really worth it? He had never asked that before, but it felt like a fair thing to consider on his part.

“I been thinkin---”

“A dangerous thing, thinking,” Crowley said in a warning tone, folding his hands in front of him, not touching the drink he ordered. Spike suddenly felt hot despite the damp weather, like a strong fire had just been lit and was ready to engulf him, burning him alive.

Spike had never been one to scare easily, he was twice the size of Mr. Crowley, he had beaten three men just like Mr. Crowley to death with his bare hands but that calculated stare and his own nervous reflection staring back at him from Mr. Crowley’s round glasses had him fidgeting in his seat.

“Shadwell,” he began, sputtering on words he had once researched and had once been confident about speaking, “What’s his role? Why do we needs ‘im if we are just collecting water?”

“Tell me Spike,” Mr. Crowley said almost playfully, like a snake taunting the rat about to become its dinner, “Do you know how Holy Water is made?”

“Holy men?”

“No,” Mr. Crowley said a crooked smile growing making Spike sink in his seat, sweat rolling down his face, it was getting hotter in here, harder to breathe, harder to think.

“Men can’t create the real stuff, the holiest of holy water, it comes from angels and their blessings. The true messengers of the lord.”

“And whats that gotta do with Shadwell?” he mumbled unzipping his leather jacket, the heat becoming unbearable.

“Narker was always a rather gifted with the Occult and if he picked Shadwell himself for this job, he likely is too.”

Spike tried to question farther but he was feeling faint, consumed by the heat, vision blurry. It felt like he was in the clutches of Hell.

“Angels are just as nasty as demons, Spike and they are just as cruel. Taking their blessing without permission tends to get…messy. Shadwell will hopefully help one of you survive long enough to give me what I want and you will get paid quite well for it, maybe even extra if you live.”

Spike could no longer speak, he felt himself slumping over in the booth. When he opened his eyes, he no longer felt the flames boiling him alive and Mr. Crowley was no longer there. He glanced at the clock, it had only been a few seconds from when Crowley had arrived, his drink still in front of him, still cold and untouched.

Spike pretended none of this happened, pushed it back in his mind and tried not to think of it anymore. The money was the important thing he reminded himself and no potential threat of his mortal soul being condemned to hell would change that. 

No matter how many nightmares he would have or the nagging terror of realizing he had likely just sold his soul to a demon.

A stylish demon with his pressed suit, round glasses and Beatles haircut.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale lost track of the time, it tended to happen when he thought about Heaven and his relationship with Crowley and where he would fall. He loved Crowley and he loved his siblings; he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to choose a side when it mattered. 

He sat by his fireplace in his favorite reading chair, it sat just right, a hundred years to break into his body in just a way his body sank in comfortably. The chair in the penthouse was comfortable and the penthouse was always perfect temperature, but it wasn’t the same as the backroom of his shop. It felt right and proper to curl up to his copy A. A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh.

He felt a bit of shame he had always dismissed this series as ‘children’s nonsense’ and not worth his time but the 1920s were a very different time then now. Then he hadn’t been in a relationship with Crowley nor had he admitted he loved him, and he certainly wasn’t expecting a child in his life. Heaven was quiet and not making demands of him, so he had been a bit more into the adult scene of Gentleman’s clubs once more, he had even felt scandalous enough to change his appearance and give himself another identity, Miles Maitland and had been flirting with a young racecar driver he lovingly called Tiger (never farther then flirting and occasional teasing, anything else would be improper to do with mortals).

He didn’t quite have the foresight to get a signed copy of this little gem, but lucky for him, he did find a first addition and snagged it for himself at an auction last month. He wasn’t about to read to his child from some secondhand book, he wanted to give them an appreciation for things that were old and held history.

He read the story aloud so his child could hear, he even made an attempt at acting out the various characters with different voices. He had once, long ago, thought of auditioning to play in one of William Shakespeare’s lovely plays but had lost nerve very quickly, it was a very demonic thing to want that kind of attention.

He hadn’t heard the front door open so consumed in getting in character, a warmth filling him, his child loved him and loved this time together. They were content and happy and so was Aziraphale.

A low applause made him jump and he tightened his grasp on the book to keep from dropping it as he spun around, frowning hard at Crowley leaning against the doorway. He set the book on the inn table next to the chair and placed a kiss on Crowley’s cheek, chuckling at the annoyed grumbles of a demon pretending he didn’t love the sentimentality of it.

“Spoiling the spawn already?”

Aziraphale scoffed to that and shook his head in disapproval, walking back towards the shop and putting a few books in his bag, he already felt restless and knew he wasn’t ready to sleep and likely wouldn’t be for a few days. The baby tired his body, he slept more then normal but that only meant he slept at all these days. His sleep schedule was irregular.

“I’m giving them a love for literature,” he said simply piling another stack of books in his old leather bag, he smiled fondly at it. It was the same bag Crowley had returned to him that night he finally realized he was in love and had always been.

“Yes, make them just as big of a brat as you, darling, give me more to do.”

Crowley grumbled, he made it sound like a chore to chase after the angel, but Aziraphale’s smug smile told him he knew better then anyone, it was all Crowley had. Demons weren’t supposed to feel love, after being forcibly thrown from heaven, they were supposed to only know hate. Lucifer liked to make Hell as miserably as possible and remind them of their traumas often to help that stereotype.

Maybe Crowley was too lazy to hang on to that hate, but he knew Aziraphale reminded him what love was and gave him a taste of it. He wanted to protect him and safeguard the only angel that had likely ever existed.

;

“Drop it, Spike.”

Spike’s hands were shaking, he kept dropping the payphone he had pressed to his ear, the roaring wind making him jump. He found himself cowering in the phone booth he crammed his large body into, squatting uncomfortably in the corner. It was an amusing sight, a large, brawny fellow like him cowering in a tight space like this.

“He ain’t human, Sally,” he pressed once more, squeezing the receiver tight, “He ain’t human!”

“Mr. Crowley paid us and will pay us again for robbing a church, he can be a blasted leprechaun and I wouldn’t care and neither should you,” Sally snarled into the receiver, “You get yer head together and you get home. I won’t listen to another word of yer cowardice.” 

With that his partner hung up on him, he had always found it charming when Sally dismissed him in the past, put him in his place with snarled words but now it just made him angry. Foolish woman, didn’t care if she was selling her soul to Satan himself, all she cared about was the money he flashed.

He slammed the phone against the receiver and just fell to the ground of the booth, pulling his flask out and drinking deeply. He thought of Shadwell and he thought of old Narker. Witch Hunter, that’s what Shadwell loudly announced himself as. Narker had always been reading those books on the occult.

He forced himself up and out into the pouring rain, he should go see Shadwell, he had to have a trick or two to get rid of demons and protect one’s soul from damnation.

;

“What’s on yer mind, dove?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, but he couldn’t deny he was feeling quite melancholy. The children’s books he was trying to read to their child sitting by the window looking out at the beautiful rain sparkling against the lamp light wasn’t doing much to perk him. 

Crowley had been completing the paperwork for his latest assignments, he was behind by at least a hundred years on filing his progress with hell and was catching up, half listening to Aziraphale read. He quite enjoyed how dramatic he got and wanted to join him, but he needed to get this done before he got to work on his heist. Get Hell’s eyes off him while he stole something from Heaven that was treason to have in his possession at all.

He had paused the moment Aziraphale had quieted, pushing his throne from his desk to get a better look at Aziraphale resting his head against the glass watching the rain slide down.

“I’m not sure if you truly wish to hear about it,” Aziraphale responded in a hollow way, he felt the baby’s confusion at his sadness. His stomach tingled and an ache ran up his spine. Longing for acceptance from your fellow angels was a more complex idea then a baby who hadn’t even been born yet would understand. In fact, if Aziraphale had his way, he would never feel this.

Crowley snorted, “If that were true, I would have never let you speak to me to begin with. I wish to hear all the things that go on in your head, inane or complex, clever or the most foolish. I like hearing your thoughts.”

Aziraphale felt a swell of love in his chest, Crowley was the only one who would ever listen to him, hear all his thoughts through no matter if he disagreed or not. He liked to remind him of that, he liked Aziraphale’s thoughts, something no one else in the cosmos liked. 

“I miss my siblings and I feel saddened that I can never introduce our child to them, I feel such a deep sadness I will have to hide our child as if it is something disgusting, something that shouldn’t exist.”

Crowley didn’t mock him, he didn’t berate his longing for acceptance with the archangels, he rested his head on his stomach and wrapped his arms tightly around him as the tears slowly fell.

“Do you regret this, then? Do you ever wish to just return to Heaven, forget about this demon who led you astray from the flock?”

Aziraphale began running his fingers through the demon’s hair at that question, feeling the demon’s guilt and sorrow. How could he regret such intense love? To know someone would always be there to pull him up when he got into trouble when he didn’t think his plans through. To know he would always have someone to listen to him ramble about his favorite books and plays and food. To know he would have someone to hold and comfort and protect after nights Crowley slept and dreamed of trauma. To know he belonged, finally, truly belonged somewhere and wasn’t just a messenger or observer to Crowley. He wasn’t just a soldier. He wasn’t a disappointment, someone who didn’t fit in the mold. He was loved and he loved Crowley in return.

“What a foolish question,” he said with a chuckle pressing a kiss to Crowley’s hair line, “I do hope that is an attempt at demonic treachery trying to lead me astray. It was a rather bad one I’m afraid though, you are stuck with me dear heart and you must endure mine and our child’s foolishness.”

Crowley tightened his hold on them and mumbled something into his girth that made Aziraphale chuckle.

“And I love you as well, dear heart.”


	5. Chapter 5

"Have any of you ever seen a beheading?”

There was a stiff silence in the room, accompanied by the thick swoosh of scissors being brandished. Crowley stood before his award-winning Dragon Snaps, holding the scissors close. The flowers in his collection had been getting an ego lately, thought they could get away with murder since his angel had begun entering them in contests. A little second place ribbon pinned with pride and care and love making the plants bold. Making them think they were good enough to escape punishment for spots.

“Not a pretty sight, they say ya stay conscious seconds after the slice and you get to marvel up at your own body and don’t have time to evaluate the pain before the humiliation sets in as the executioner brandishes your head before a cheering crowd like a trophy. Not a fun death.”

Another deafening snip of the kitchen shears rusted at the edges to make the death painful as possible making the flowers tremble and straighten.

“Darling.”

He paused turning his back on his trembling flowers as Aziraphale entered the room, he felt the relief oozing from the dense jungle of greenery, they thought they were safe with angel around.

“You are interrupting important business, dearest,” Crowley grumbled pulling the rusty scissors away from the flower and turning his attention to Aziraphale. He tried his best to be annoyed but he couldn’t keep it up at the gentle peck on his lips from the angel that made him deflate.

“You are always cross when I leave without notice and I must go to the shop, so here I am, telling you I am leaving so you won’t get your knickers in a bunch.”

He was so maddeningly matter of fact about Crowley’s reasonable worry, this is where the flowers got their holier than thou attitude from, oh they would not be taken care of by this brat again.

Crowley gave him a cross look as he swiped the scissors from hand and pivoted on his heal ready to leave, giving Crowley full view of his lovely rump, just begging for the swat Crowley gave it.

Aziraphale barely hid his want to be pushed up against the wall and for Crowley to give him something a little harder then a little swat the way his eyes sunk in want and his teeth ran across his lip but he shook it off with a firm head shake.

“Our child is right here and is very aware of our actions,” he said in his prim and straight voice he gave his customers, “Be nice to the flowers, no need to teach our child nasty habits before they are born.”

“No need to teach them nasty habits,” Crowley mocked snatching his scissors back, “Then are they in the wrong angel. All you have are nasty habits, dove.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow rose and Crowley chuckled seeing the little cogs starting up again, churning out worrisome thoughts about self-worth once more. Crowley grabbed a handful of his angel’s beautiful rump once more making him gasp and oh did he love that blush; he gave it another playful little spank kissing on the angel on the tip of his nose.

“The only angel worthy of a demon is one who has just the right nasty habits and to make the chase worth it.” 

Crowley gave him another kiss on the nose before pulling away and demanding he accompany him today. Aziraphale tried to object but there was no changing Crowley’s mind, he didn’t want Aziraphale out of sight and that was final it seemed. No matter the pressing matters he previously had with his plants.

;

The boarding house Shadwell was staying in a run-down neighborhood, the kind of place that got repented criminals right back in the game after swearing it off. Spike found Shadwell easy enough, rolling a cigarette up sloppily, the tobacco leaking from the front messily and onto the filthy stoop the man sat on.

He grunted at Spike in the greeting two men like them gave people and when Spike didn’t state his business, he went about ignoring him. He lit up what was just paper now after most of the tobacco had fallen and ended up burning his fingers, dropping the inflamed sheet and stomping it angrily.

“Whatcha want?” Shadwell finally demanded and Spike had to take a moment to let it sink in he was turning to a man he would have just a day ago, had in fact just a day ago, felt was a mental patient.

“What do ya do about demons?”

“That’s a bit advanced, lad,” Shadwell chuckled acting as if they weren’t the exact same age and in the exact same boat afloat to eternal damnation, as if Spike was the one overreacting.

“Ain’t no demons here, just the vile harpies who do their biddin’,” he was very matter of fact on his assessment, all at once Spike knew he was turning to someone who didn’t know an ounce about the nonsense he spouted about.

“So ya, the crazed witch hunter,” he sneered glaring at him hard, “Don’t see that Mista Crowley is a servant a hell?!”

Shadwell gave him a strange look, like Spike were the crazy and irrational one here, as if Spike were the one who ranted on street corners and demanded to see everyone’s nipples.

“Mista Crowley ain’t an honest man, that man will be burning in the fires a hell before his body is cold, but he ain’t no witch nor no demon, if’n he were, I would know.”

“He wants us ta steal holy water!” Spike bellowed loudly, stomping his foot and making the ill repute ladies mumble to each other they needed to move away from the mad men spouting about witches and demons.

“Aye, he does and that could be for nasty reasons, but it is a weapon against witches and their demon lords.”

Shadwell got up from his spot on the stoop walking away from Spike, pausing a few steps away from him and calling behind his shoulder.

“I’mma ‘fraid can’t do much about Mista Crowley and his little endeavor, found a real witch, not intimidated by the likes of Crowley like ya. I may miss his little heist if’n I don’t slay the witch myself by tomorrow.”

Spike snarled at the condescending look from this mad man and his ramblings of witches not seeing the real supernatural threat in front of him.

If’n ya come with me, ya can come see Narker and he can tell ya the same as me about where he stashed away ‘is old supply of weapons.”

;

“Why are you so worked up?”

Aziraphale nuzzled against Crowley that night as they lay in the back room of the shop, Crowley, true to his word had been walking with Aziraphale to and from the shop so he wasn’t alone ‘in his condition’ and he didn’t have to endure his hellish car rides. 

“You have never had a problem with me walking alone before, but now you are terrified of me leaving your sight.” 

Crowley didn’t answer, he just scratched behind his angel’s ear making him practically purr putting his head back down on his chest. He stared at the fireplace and picked back up the copy of Mary Poppins he had been reading to his angel and child. He had paused to just watch the content look on the angel’s face grow, and his eyelids flicker closed, soothed by Crowley’s reading.

Aziraphale, sharp as ever, picked up on his inner turmoil the moment he stopped reading.

“I like your company,” Crowley grunted deciding to avoid the issue, flipping the page over and taking in the illustration of Poppins, more stylish and attractive then any nanny had the right to be. Crowley imagined if he ever played the role of a nanny, he would take inspiration from her, maybe make the color scheme darker but the basic idea.

“I’m not afraid of hell if that is what you are worried about,” Aziraphale stated seemingly determined to ruin the mood, “Gabriel taught me how to protect myself quite well. He wouldn’t have me serving at the round table until I got proper training and I do have quite the scars to prove I survived that training, darling.”

He snorted at his angel kissing him on the forehead, he was quite good with a sword, Crowley recalled he discorporated him that century when he attempted to kill King Arthur. That had been centuries ago though and Aziraphale, had a nasty little habit of attracting trouble and not being able to handle it.

The Nazis. The Bastille. That run in with the mafia Crowley was still trying to wrap his head around, he had no clue how the angel angered them over out bidding them over first additions.

Aziraphale was kind and soft and not meant for fighting, even less so with a child growing inside him. Crowley refused to put his angel through stress and trauma like dealing with other demons, they weren’t like Crowley and they weren’t like mortals and they wouldn’t stop until they broke him. Hastur would take pride in breaking someone as sweet and kind as Aziraphale.

He ignored Aziraphale’s assurance for now and went back to their book to take his mind off things. One more night and he would have his holy water and that protection would help him finally relax.


	6. Chapter 6

“Who is this witch you are so concerned about?”

Spike couldn’t understand it, here was a flesh and blood demon using them to penetrate holy grounds for whatever reason and the witch obsessed nut case didn’t see it, instead he was obsessed with some witch. It was likely just some nice old woman who offended him by politely asking him not to scream insanities in front of her shop.

Shadwell might as well have ignored the question; he kept his hands in his jacket pocket and picked up the pace as they walked another three blocks. A cool wind began to pick up making Spike huff and snarl, out here in the cold fall evening with a mad man when he could be home with Sally wasn’t his idea of fun. The thought of Sally made him sigh, she wasn’t gonna be happy he was interfering with their paycheck.

“Fell, that be the witch I hunt,” Shadwell finally grunted, Spike had forgotten the question at this point and had to think on it a moment before nodding, no longer caring.

The name was familiar, but Spike couldn’t pin where he had heard the name. He didn’t ask and didn’t want an explanation, but Shadwell wanted to waste his time with one anyway.

“The little book owner in the old part of Soho, the southern pansy. I been watchin’ him all week and I have enough evidence to confront him, but I need to be prepared unless I want ta be hexed.”

Spike had a vague idea of who he was referring to, little frumpy old man with the white hair who was always at the café Sally loved. She thought he was rather cute the way he always made sure to get the door for her, had a passion for the theater like Sally, both talked about the Soho theater productions and neither ever had much nice to say about them. Spike never talked to him, but he had been pointed out to him a time or two by Sally, nothing particularly witchy about an older gentleman who liked books and theaters and ate too many sweets.

Spike tuned him out from there, it seemed like he expected, little shop keeper called out the crazy man and he was a witch now.

They stopped at a run-down little town house in a run-down little neighborhood that looked like the blitz just happened moments before they walked into the street. Pavement was riddled with potholes, sidewalk worn and cracked, stray cats taking over the yards and alley ways, houses looking abandoned, about the best a felon could hope for.

Shadwell pounded on the door a moment and a loud cursing was met on the other side of the door. The door cracked just an inch, the chair lock still in place to keep them from shoving it open and Narker’s wrinkly old face and sagging blood shot eye met them.

“What do ya want?”

“Spike ‘ere wants to join the army,” Shadwell said proudly, and Spike would have argued but he was desperate to find even lies to give him hope he wouldn’t be damned for all eternity.

“Ain’t no army, ain’t been in two hundred years,” Narker snared, “All dats left is fools like you and me who think we can do a damn thing against the witches and demons of the world.” 

“An’ I told ya I am gonna change dat,” Shadwell snarled as the chain was unlocked and Narker stepped aside to let them in, “Gonna get a grand army like ya never seen, all to vanquish the evil of this world.”

Shadwell didn’t ask Narker for permission, didn’t even pause to look at the man as he began digging in the trunks pilled around the one-bedroom apartment, stacked ontop of each other and half opened spilling clothing and ripped out book pages about the filthy floor.

Narker didn’t say anything sitting down on his murphy bed and nudging his head next to him inviting spike to sit on the tattered and taped back together recliner next to it. 

“Ya told me I was daft when I got into the witch hunting business,” Narker commented scratching at the whiskers of hair unevenly growing around his face half sloppily shaved and half long and twisting. Spike said nothing and frowned as the older man laughed, running his hand through his balding thin long grey hair.

“Let me guess, ya finally saw Mista Crowley for what ‘e is?”

“Ya know he was a demon?” Spike grunted and Narker nodded, pulling a flask from his tattered army jacket. It was the same as Shadwell’s, Spike was just now noticing they both had identical patches on the shoulder sleeves. A two man army of nut jobs, possibly gonna be three if Mista Crowley sent Spike off the deep end too.

“Course,” Narker said after a long drink of his flask, “Last job, that bank robber gone wrong that got me put away, I saws him turn into a snake right before me eyes.”

“Really?”

“Truly, swear to god, hes turns to me and says ‘this is goin’ a bit south, Nark, if’n ya don’t mind, I’ll be leavin’” and he did that. Turned into a bloody snake right before me eyes and crawled up the vents and was gone leavin’ me ta deal with the cops.”

“How ya get involved with this witch nonsense?”

“Same way as Shadwell, met a madman in prison, had a ten-year sentence, got plenty of time to read about Witchfinder General Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer and his various biographies and people who had followed similar beliefs to him in prison. Used ta be an army, it dwindled to nothing with the years and all that was left was his descent. Augustus Pulsifer was serving life for burning a witch alive and is an outcast to his family, but everything he said made sense to me after Crowley.”

“Ya got this junk from ‘im then?”

Narker nodded taking another swig, “He weren’t usin’ it and he needed someone out there continuing ‘is business and its gotta be me and Shadwell now.”

Spike held his hand out demanding the flask, he couldn’t deal with this sober and Narker chuckled passing it to him without complaint, watching Spike swig it down.

“What of ya lad? Ya joining the game?”

“Not likely,” Spike finally spat tossing the flask back to the older man, “I’m ‘ere to get protection from Mista Crowley. I ain’t bein’ damned by the likes of ‘im.”

;

Aziraphale woke up before Crowley, it wasn’t an unusual event, but it was always rather amusing waking up on the couch crushing his love. Crowley was insistent he liked Aziraphale’s warmth on top of him and it even made him sleep better but it always got a chuckle from the angel seeing the demon so content with all his added weight crushing him down like this.

Crowley only whined with discomfort when Aziraphale rose from the couch, with a snap his clothes were straightened as if he hadn’t just slept in them.

He decided on going out to get them breakfast at his favorite café, it had the best pastries in Soho if you asked Aziraphale. There was just that little extra bit of love baked into each bite from the chef’s family recipe and the fond memories she carried for baking them. It wasn’t a long walk, just around the corner, he would be back long before Crowley woke knowing the demon and his sleeping habits.

He walked outside into the early morning hours, the sun had just risen, and the closed shops were slowly beginning to open. He passed by his neighbor and gave him a good morning and the older man gave him a sleepy rise of his coffee cup in greeting as he collected his mail outside his shop.

He knew he purchased too much, but three dozen fruit filled, and freshly drizzled croissants just sounded lovely that morning, if Crowley was lucky, he may even share one with him. He had a skip to his step and a bright smile on his face as he made it back to his shop.

His good mood was a bit disheartened seeing a customer already waiting by the shop, a rather large man with a crew cut and leather jacket stood by his door, just staring inside. He almost looked lost.

“Are you lost, my boy?” he asked politely as he opened up the shop door with his key and the young man continued to just stare at him. Aziraphale paused, glancing up at him, there was something off about the young man, he felt something akin to hatred washing from his aura.

“I know that Bentley parked in front of yer shop,” he said nudging his head towards Crowley’s car, parked illegally as always much to Aziraphale’s dismay, parked in a way you couldn’t miss it like you weren’t likely to miss it’s owner.

“Ah yes, that is my dear friend’s,” Aziraphale said firmly and felt the fear from the young man. It seemed he had a rather personal relation to Crowley.

“Its not for sale I’m afraid,” Aziraphale chuckled soon after trying to lighten the mood and watched the nervous glint of a smile cross the man’s face.

Before he could say anymore, the owner of said vehicle stepped outside joining them, he gave a nasty glare to the young man making him straighten and mumbled in a tone not to be argued with to Aziraphale.

“Go inside angel.”

Ah, it was another person Crowley had angered doing Hell’s dirty work, sensing the danger as well their baby cried out making Aziraphale cringe in pain nearly dropping his boxes of sweets. Crowley firmly, yet gently shoved him inside the shop and closed the door behind him. Glancing back, Aziraphale noticed the door had been willed locked, making Aziraphale roll his eyes. He was pregnant, not an invalid, he could handle a mortal if they wanted to take a swing at him.

He let Crowley do what he wanted to do, going to the kitchen.

;

“If’n ya value yer life, leave.”

Mister Crowley had always carried a carefree demeanor even when it came to threatening others but that was dropped with Shadwell’s witch so close by. Spike frowned staring at the demon.

“I was lookin’ for books,” Spike challenged straightening his back, but Crowley wasn’t moving from the door.

“I don’t pay ya to learn, I pay ya to be obedient.”

Spike felt the heat rising again like it had in the bar, he felt his breath leaving his lungs and his knees quaked in a fear he couldn’t comprehend. He immediately stood down and backed away from the shop. He had never once ran cowardly from a fight, he never had to, was always the biggest man in the room and didn’t need to run from fights. Yet, he ran from Crowley. He ran for now, he needed to plan. He felt the pressure of the witch hunter book Narker had given him in his jacket pocket, he would read tonight. He would plan.

He felt a smirk cross his lips as he walked the rest of the way to his apartment, Shadwell would get rid of Crowley’s witch at least. Even if he failed, even if he was damned, his revenge may come in the form of losing the witch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author has been reading The Graveyard Book and I wonder if anyone will tell by this chapter.

“Where da hell you been?”

Spike didn’t say anything as he walked in the door of his apartment. Sally was up and getting her gear ready for tonight’s robbery. Tight black jumpsuit she hand sew herself on (it left nothing to the imagination) and a masquerade mask she honestly thought hid her identity hanging from her fingertips.

She was giving him a stern look, demanding an explanation and if that excuse didn’t meet her expectations, she would likely strike him. Nasty temper on his little cat burglar and his could get just as nasty, they were each other’s worst hell on their worst nights and everyone around them’s hell on their best. 

“We ain’t robbin’ no church, Sal.”

It wasn’t up for debate, it was an absolute statement on his part, but Sally’s glare said it all, she was ready to fight about it anyway.

“You gone mad? Been hitting the bottle again? Pissed out of yer damn mind?”

She took a challenging step forward, standing on her tip toes to meet him directly at eye level and smell the whiskey on his breath. He glared back and clenched his fists, best not to directly start the physical violence. She might be a pain in the ass, but he loved this daft woman and didn’t want her near a flesh and blood demon!

“Do ya think our bills just gonna pay themselves? Think its wise for us to just give up on this little fortune that just involves walkin’ into a church and strollin’ out with holy water??”

Her voice was rising, and spittle was splashing on his face, this is where they usually got violent with one another. Sally would always start get in some good hits before Spike finished it. He was the muscle of every operation for a reason, but that didn’t mean Sal couldn’t do just as much damage, had even taken him by surprise enough to win one or two spats. Spike decided before he unlocked the door, he wasn’t gonna play her game, he was going to protect this stupid woman because he loved her. Or he thought he loved her. Their relationship was toxic, and they would end up killing each other one day but for now he felt it was his job to man up for her.

He grabbed her by the shoulders taking her by surprise and tossed her into the empty trunk they kept in the living room, it formerly held a man they ransomed and had enough room to toss a woman like Sally in. He locked it and locked the apartment back before leaving again. There would be no heist tonight and he was gonna tell Mista Crowley that personally.

;

There was an old cemetery down an old winding road in a tiny forgotten village on the far side of South Oxfordshire that Crowley had designated they meet at three am precisely after the heist was done. Midnight was too cliché for Crowley’s taste and three was too cliché to pass up, just the right hour for mysterious and occult things to go down.

Crowley had never been one for being early, he had even invented the term ‘fashionably late’ just so he never had to rush himself to get somewhere. For once in his entire miserable existence as a demon, he found he couldn’t sleep. He had watched Aziraphale do so a few moments, both lying upstairs in the book shop in the old creaky bed, but found seeing his family sleeping so soundly only gave him more urge to get up.

After getting up he had just drove straight here and now found himself doing something he hadn’t done since drunk sleepless nights in 1860, lurking the shadows of the graveyard.

Grave robbing wasn’t exactly a professional career anymore, Crowley didn’t have anyone here to use his wiles against or scare into the arms of heaven (he had done this once or twice as a favor to Aziraphale). He didn’t have a thing to distract him from his thoughts, thinking was dangerous, thinking about the what ifs was always going to be fatal.

He slumped against the cracking mausoleum and glared at the faded stone plague memorializing Rev Thomas Warren who lived and died devoting his life to the lord and protecting the poor. Crowley snared; he was sure the former priest cared deeply for the poor in Potters Field as he spent his last shilling on this tomb for himself, not even leaving scraps in the collection plate when he passed.

That was Heaven for you, they assured you they were in the right and force morality on you then don’t take their own advice.

He thought of Aziraphale and the melt downs he had in the past over not being good enough, the times he refused to use a single miracle on himself to save him from dangerous and life threatening situations and how he feared not choosing the right side of things.

Gabriel never had a nice word to say to his youngest sibling, never praised any of the good he did, just side eyed him like something nasty he had stepped in. Something not worth his time, something that could easily be disposed of.

Demons weren’t the only thing he feared, Hell was a threat and an immediate one but only because they took the time to remember Crowley existed.

Aziraphale gave unconditional love and servitude to a system that didn’t know he existed and Crowley knew that was gonna hurt when his angel finally wised up about that.

He lit a cigarette, he swore to his angel he would stop when the baby was born but the little bugger had yet to grace them with their presence, so the nasty habits got to stay.

There had previously been no fog in the air, no looming threat of evil afoot but the growing smog from the cigarette Crowley willed to be thick and heavy, gave the cemetery the rightful weight it needed to have for a deal with a devil tonight.

He sat on the broken and moss-covered headstone of William Quill who left only memories according to the stone (all likely forgotten now 200 odd years later) and pondered on what he was to do next. Should he also fear heaven? Should he secure insurance for that inevitable (ineffable really Crowley shuddered) discovery? He frowned, killing a demon was righteous and noble, killing an angel would be unforgivable. Even for a damned soul like Crowley, it just felt like an unspeakable act, killing one of Her holy children. To protect the holiest of the holy in Her kingdom, he would, he would kill for Aziraphale, anything to keep him safe but it didn’t mean it sat right with him.

He paused in his thoughts glancing up at unexpectedly early face. The muscle of this operation seemed to carry a heaven burden on his shoulders as he walked stiffy, yet determinedly towards him, stopping a foot away.

“Saw Narker early dis morning.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and chuckled lighting another cigarette, heavy atmosphere for heavy handed conformations. Crowley liked setting moods for this, he had never been a fan of Shakespeare’s dramas, never one for drama in general, but if you were forced to partake in them, you better set the scene. No one did that better then Will he thought with a chuckle, every mortal after was just copying the formula. They should try going for comedies, Crowley would take them more seriously if they gave him a chuckle or two before their spiels about evil and what not.

“How’s old Narker then? Still able to give a laugh or is he just all doom and gloom after finding the lord?” 

Crowley wasn’t afraid of mortals, hadn’t been since Adam had tried to kill him with Aziraphale’s sword after finding out his lot had tempted Cain to killing Abel. Adam was far smarter then Spike too and thanks to Aziraphale, he had a weapon that would do a bit more then just discorporate Crowley. He was taunting Spike, maybe being a bit cocky about it all. Spike wasn’t a threat to him and never would be. He smoked and his smile grew at Spike’s annoyance.

“Narker ain’t afraid of ya anymore and neither am I,” Spike stated his confidence growing making Crowley roll his eyes, “We ain’t doin’ yer bloody heist, Mista Crowley.”

Crowley didn’t make a move just watched listlessly as Spike reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a…birthday candle? He watched him light the bright pink and white stripped stick and held it out between two fingers stepping towards Crowley, wadding through the smog of smoke willed by the demon. It would almost be dramatic if it wasn’t such a pitiful sight. 

“I will be sending ya back ta hell tonight, Crowley! Ye shall not be stealing anymore souls of the innocent!”

He bellowed pulling a bell out of his pocket with his other hand and ringing it repeatedly. It was a pitiful little sound, not a full ring, just a rattle of a ring. Shaking repeatedly in the man’s large brawny fingers, nearly deafened as his thick thumb slid other the tiny slits.

“What the hell are ya on about?” Crowley grumbled, “Innocent? Ya killed a nun last year, Spike. A nun. She weren’t doing nothin’ but ya silenced her to keep her from testifying against ya. And if’n ya mean Shadwell or Sally, they ain’t innocent. Might not have blood on their hands but they aren’t sweet things. Shadwell got put a bloody way for highway robbery, didn’t he tell ya? Held a sweet little family of four with a pregnant wife at gun point for some jewelry. And Narker? Ya think he’s a saint? That’s a laugh.”

Crowley knew quite a bit about everyone he recruited, all it took was a little digging and he would know whatever he wanted about them. Mortals were easy to sway and tempt for information and their records had such easy to break locks. He was more cautious now a days about people he did business with, he had to be, his family needed protection. Mortals might not be able to kill Aziraphale without hell fire but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be able to kill their child while they grew in the corporation.

“Might not be innocent but that don’t mean bloody demons and witches are allowed to terrorize us!”

Crowley had enough when he pulled out a little pocket size bible and began (poorly) reading from it, mispronouncing several words and skipping passages. Crowley cut him off, yanking the book from his hand and making him cry out, dropping the lit candle and scrambling backwards to get away from Crowley.

Crowley smashed the candle heavily under his boot as he stomped forward, yanking off his glasses and putting the fear of Satan into the man as his demonic eyes starred inches away from his mortal ones.

“What the hell ya mean by witches? That where Shadwell is? Off tormenting some poor women?”

He stared deep into his soul, he wouldn’t tell lies, he was unable to with Crowley baring into him.

“He…went ta kill yer witch…the book store owner..”

“What?!”

The fires of Hell began to boil in his blood and Spike felt it instantly, the heat rising, the pain, the screams of damned souls. The scales began to break across Crowley’s flesh, his claws breaking from his human nails and digging into Spike’s flesh as he grabbed him, slamming him hard into the side of a mausoleum.

“That nobody witch hunter wishes to lay hands on my angel?!”

His forked tongue flicked out, hissing at Spike who had turned a ghostly white. He felt his heart pounding hard, slamming against his chest. Time felt like it stopped, reality felt like it was breaking around Spike, he felt his spirit slip from his mortal body. Around him he saw creatures, small and demon like, claws as sharp as the demon in front of him and eyes just as reptile and feral. All had large freakishly large smiles on their faces.

“If he’s dead, Spike, I won’t even let the ghouls that live on the recesses of the graveyard return you to your miserable life, I’ll let them eat your corpse and drag you straight to hell, I swear to Satan.”

Spike had previously wanted the demon to release him but the moment he did, the small, smiling ghouls had grabbed on to him. They gleefully told him how much fun they would have, dragging him to the edge of the cemetery where the other dead souls looked on in pity as he was dragged into the Ghoul Gate; a large crypt wide open just big enough for a man as large as Spike to be dragged in. The sharp claws of the ghouls digging into his clothing and ripping into his soul, bleeding out blood he didn't know he still had. He tried to scramble away but small as they were, the ghouls had strong grips, toppling him over and dragging him into the crypt like a fresh corpse.

He wouldn’t be there long, but he would wake in the cemetery tomorrow morning never the same again after spending a night in a part of Hell no damned soul ever wanted to enter.

Whether any of that happened or if it was just something Crowley had willed into his head with his limitless imagination was something only Crowley knew and he was too focused on his family to care to tell anyone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter. will have it up soon.

Crowley was up to something.

Aziraphale was far from as foolish and naïve as everyone just pegged him as. He stomped his foot in frustration and felt a stomp to his insides from his child that made him double over in pain. He took a deep breath willing himself to calm down and not get so angry with his poor child so near, they didn’t understand why he was angry.

“I’m sorry my darling,” he whispered to his child, rubbing gentle circles into his stomach, “I’m not even truly mad at dad, I’m just…sad he can’t trust me.”

With that admission he deflated slipping on his robe feeling the cool air freezing his bare legs in nothing but his night gown and creeping downstairs into his shop. He glanced at the grandfather clock as he rounded a row of shelves and glanced into the empty back room, quarter to midnight.

“This is an evil time, my love, a time for demons,” Aziraphale mumbled rubbing his stomach in a gentle motion feeling that warmth, that wonderful euphoric warmth of love radiating from the baby.

“Our demon is out hunting, my dear, and we must wait for him to come home.”

Aziraphale wasn’t one for patience when it came to matters like this, Crowley had left them to go who knows where and be in who knows what sort of trouble without even giving them assurance by telling them first where he went. That frustration was back again, Aziraphale wasn’t allowed to go downstairs without a demon hovering over him, but Crowley could lurk at this hour. 

He sighed, frowning and rubbing his stomach as he put on a pot of tea.

“Now, dad being out is no reason to fret, dear one,” he said firmly at the strong protests from his little one not liking one bit the demon wasn’t cuddled around them at this hour as usual, “He will drag himself in when he feels like it, that’s just how he is and you will have to get used to it. Evil never sleeps and we are ever vigilant of that evil.” 

Aziraphale began setting biscuits and tea and a variety of snack foods left over from the day onto a serving tray before making his into the sitting room. With a snap, the fireplace was roaring, and his phonograph was drowning the uncomfortable silence with a comforting Italian Opera he remembered seeing with Crowley in 1605, a fine year for them. He smiled thinking of Crowley being dubbed the dark angel of Sicily and himself becoming the trickster of Paris.

He opened his copy of The Prince and the Pauper, losing himself to a familiar story becoming at ease and feeling the wonderous euphoria of love from his child before long as they became settled.

;

Shadwell came from a rough start and without dwelling too long on every tiny detail that lead him here, he had been busting into people’s lofts since he was a wee lad due to unfortunate circumstances. When he started, the crow barring the window open quietly while keeping his balance up high on such uneven footing part had been difficult and the shimming inside the upstairs windows had been the easy part.

Shadwell was an old pro at breaking and entering now, it only took a moment to pop the bathroom window open, even while hanging awkwardly against the old rusted fire escape ladder in the back alley leading to the roof. The hard part was fitting his bulky frame through the window. Someone like Mista Crowley or Missus Sally would get through with ease, but it took someone like Shadwell a moment. He had tossed his shoulder bag in first and hadn’t even noticed how it slammed against the door with a thud.

His elbow slammed into the toilet on his way in and made it rattle but he was too caught up in his glee of getting in at all he didn’t think the witch would have hurt him.

;

A demon hunting prey in the full moon at midnight was quite the cliché, but Crowley loved to bend the status quo. He wasn’t doing the normal cat and mouse trick like Ligur would prefer, he wasn’t taking his time as Hastur would have, he was speeding down the road with fire on his wheels. He had never driven so fast to the book shop before and he had never intended to kill anyone there either.

Crowley wasn’t going to kill someone for Hell’s sake but his own. Whether Shadwell went up or down didn’t matter to him, he just needed to make certain he didn’t return a soul to Heaven tonight.

He usually had no real need for anger or hatred, often too lazy to let them boil and fester for long but tonight he did. Tonight, he allowed his claws to extend and his scales to rise and any sense of humanity to drop. He wasn’t to be humane with someone, some witch hunter, who thought it was a laugh to touch his family.

;

Aziraphale set his tea down hearing a loud thud followed by another thud directly above him. An intense searing pain ran through him as the baby made their fear and displeasure known. Aziraphale kept one hand firmly against his aching stomach and used the other to force himself up. Quickly he scanned the backroom for something to protect himself with, there were plenty of thick books, but he wasn’t about to harm his books like that or risk breaking his good china teacups on a burglar.

He settled on a knitting sheer he tucked in his robe pocket and Crowley’s old silver snake headed walking cane that had somehow ended up in his umbrella stand. He clasped the base of the walking stick firmly with his fists like a sword (lamenting the lack of a particular flaming sword) and pressed himself against the wall, glancing out the entrance of the backroom as he heard boots stomping down the stairs.

Gabriel had always lamented how hopeless he was on the battlefield and Michael always sneered if a demon crossed his path that had an iota of competence, he would die before he picked up his sword. He knew even Crowley didn’t trust him to protect himself.

He felt the frustration building at them all assuming so little of him. He had walked this Earth for six thousand years and had yet to be discorporated once and he didn’t have any protection. He had served under King Arthur and Crowley so often forgot it was he who defeat him on more than one occasion with brute strength alone on those battle fields. He had served under her majesty’s medical op during both wars and had drug his fair share of young men from the claws of Death from the trenches himself without Crowley’s assistance and he had yet to see any of his siblings stepping in to protect him even once.

He may get in the odd situations and need a helping hand, but he refused to let those be testimonies that he was helpless. He heard the intruder fumble around in the dark, cursing up a storm as he tripped over a stack of books, he was going to defend himself and his child without the aid of miracles. He was just hardheaded enough to want to prove something tonight after all the nannying Crowley had been putting him through. 

With a snap, all the lights went out around him to keep the element of surprise in his corner.

;

Crowley scratched the side of the Bentley slamming onto the curb the way he did and hitting the flower cart the neighbor had left out once more after multiple warnings from Aziraphale to take it in at night. He only paused momentarily to hiss in disgust at the scratched paint; he was back to his task at hand hearing a loud yell and crash from inside the shop.

Blowing the doors open, knocking the glass out with a loud shatter and running in. He lost it almost instantly seeing Shadwell’s form hovering over his angel.

;

Shadwell pulled himself up from the bottom of the stairs, bloody witch must have known he was coming. He must have set up some defensive traps to slip Shadwell up, he couldn’t take the obvious solution of falling over his own two feet.

He squinted his eyes trying to get a good look in the dark and had trouble making anything out, just endless piles of books. Likely spell books.

“I know ye are here, ya bloody witch, best come out unless ya want things ta become ugly.”

A haughty scoff pierced through the silence and Shadwell turned towards it, edging against bookshelves. He fumbled in his pocket a moment and pulled out a match and birthday candle, lighting the candle with the match giving him a tiny sliver of light in the darkness. He mumbled the single word ‘candle’. He then picked one of the many scattered books off a shelf and mutter to himself the single word ‘book’. 

He made his way through the dark, seeing the backroom just ahead, that must be where the witch is. Before he could pull out his bell poking from the top of his pocket, he was dropping to the ground hard as a blunt object struck him on the side of the head.

;

Aziraphale felt a pain traveling through him as the man fumbled through the dark, knocking over a neat pile of books he had stacked earlier in the evening to shelve in the morning. His previous frustration about this man just breaking into his home like this was becoming anger, not quite righteous anger that lead to smoting but the anger of a parent feeling their child’s fear. The baby may not have been born yet, but they sensed the auras around them as Aziraphale did, they felt every emotion and felt every intention behind actions they couldn’t comprehend yet. 

They knew as Aziraphale knew this wasn’t a confused soul coming to them for help, it was someone who intended to harm them. They knew Crowley was not here, they did not sense their father back yet, so their fear of this presence was intense and weakening Aziraphale.

It was an intense pain that nearly doubled him over, clinging tight to his stomach, holding his breath he didn’t need to concentrate on something physical. He gripped both hands on the blunt object and did his best to ignore the intense fear and pain coming from inside him. His poor darling, they didn’t understand, it wasn’t their fault for this pain and Aziraphale reacting to it was only making matters worse.

He heard the intruder’s threat and scoffed loudly at his threats. This man was calling him the monster in this scenario? Even if he were a witch, which he very clearly wasn’t, it would be a real laugh trying to claim the mighty witch hunter as the hero trying to harm a pregnant being in his own home.

His muttered words were like a count down for Aziraphale gripping the cane tighter in his hands.

Candle (one), Aziraphale finally saw his target in the pitch dark as light broke in the darkness.

Book (two) Aziraphale channeled his pain that was growing as anger seeing this awful man touch his books.

Bell (three), the man was close enough for Aziraphale to swing and heard a loud cry as he struck his target square in his head and he tumbled like a sack of potatoes.

;

The fact that waking up after being struck wasn’t an unusual situation to be in should put some perspective on Shadwell’s life and his many terrible choices.

What was surprising, however, were the circumstances in which he woke to. The lights were back on in the shop, the fireplace admitting a comforting warmth and the witch was sitting primly in his chair fully dressed now and sipping from a cup of tea.

“If you will be civil, I will allow you to say your piece and leave without anymore fuss, if you continue on with your barbaric attitude, I will be forced to throw you out the hard way.”

Shadwell glared at the witch, trying to catch his angle, its like he didn’t understand the reason he was here to begin with. He wasn’t exactly here to play tea party with one of Satan’s Whores!

“I know its rather strange I haven’t thrown you out already and am instead giving you a second chance so to say but,” he paused as if uncertain himself, “But I am sad to say, I could use an informant if you are a true witch hunter. I promise if you accept my wagers and promise to stop harassing people, I can make it quite worth your while, at least enough to get you out of poverty.”

“Yer a damned witch,” Shadwell snarled hefting himself up from the floor and giving an even glare to Aziraphale.

“Actually, quite the opposite,” he stated with a cocky smile standing up from his seat and making a show of taking off his jacket and shirt, likely trying to seduce him. Shadwell made to comment, he had quite a few nasty words to throw at the man just at the tip of his tongue but was immediately silenced by a beautiful pair of pearly wings manifested from his back and a bright light, not quite burning as it was cooling, like being plunged into icy water while being forced to look directly into blinding sunlight.

Through the glare of light, Shadwell could just make out a sprinkle of eyes popping up around his body and where Shadwell should have felt fear, all he felt was a relief that made him drop to his knees once more as if in prayer.

“Be not afraid, sergeant, I am far from a witch or demon. I work for the lot you should put your full trust in.”

And Shadwell might as well be damned, for he did.

When the light subsided the angel, he weren’t a witch or demon at all he was something divine and something beautiful that brought tears to Shadwell’s eyes, brought his hand to his head and swayed a moment.

“I know darling,” he mumbled almost to himself rubbing his stomach gently, “I know. I over did it.”

He would have fainted directly onto the hard floor if Shadwell hadn’t caught him.

;

Shadwell had been trying to rouse the angel, shaking likely a little harder then he should have been and snarling threats at him about what he would do to him if this was all just some kind of trick of the mind when the door slammed up fierce enough to knock all the glass out. He cringed, pulling the angel closer to him as he saw a beast of Hell walk through the door that looked vaguely like Mista Crowley.

“You are a right dead man, Shadwell!”

The demon’s snake like tongue flicked out with each word, large fangs growing in his mouth making his speech slurred. His eyes were reptilian and focused only on Shadwell, they promised he was to meet his end today for coming to shop at all and not doing what he was meant to. 

Shadwell sneered towards him, picking up the cane the angel previously used to knock some sense into him ready to defend his previous foe. He was right glad he had come here tonight and not used his powers to steal for demon such as Crowley.

Crowley snarled at him and with almost inhuman speed launched at him, grabbing him by the jacket with both hands making the shelves rattle and books fall as he slammed Shadwell into the wall. His claws digging deep into his shoulders, making him scream at the pain as the blood began to flow.

“Don’t expect this death to be painless,” the demon snarled spittle splashing into Shadwell’s face and claws digging deeper, “I am going to make it last an eternity. An eternity of pain and agony. You will wish for death and I shall not give it to you.”

Shadwell missed it in his cowering, in his rambling and begging, but it wasn’t lost to the angel picking himself from the ground. The demon had tears running from his eyes. There was a thick aura of pain and fear surrounding him making Aziraphale dizzy, nearly blacking out as he approached the tsunami of emotions pouring off the demon. He was afraid Aziraphale and their baby would die, he could feel it, he feared Shadwell hurt them.

Without even taking a moment to question the action or allow the nauseating fear from father and child knock him down once more, he wrapped his arms around Crowley. He buried his head in the demon’s neck and let him feel his love, his deep unconditional love for him. It was only then that Crowley calmed enough to release Shadwell, let him fall into a whimpering puddle on the ground.

“It’s alright, darling,” Aziraphale whispered into his ear bringing a hand up to pet his hair. Gently, he directed Crowley to sit with him on the ground and allowed him to burry himself into Aziraphale, holding him tight as the angel stroked his hair.

Letting out a soothing healing aura that calmed the demon and healed Shadwell’s wounds.

“I’m here, Crowley and I will always be here,” he whispered feeling himself beginning to black out again, once more he had overexerted himself in his state.

“I was so afraid for you and the baby,” Crowley sobbed clinging tighter to him, “I heard that witch hunter came for you and if you discorporated, the baby would have died and you could have been greatly injured!”

Aziraphale shook away the black dots in front of his eyes trying to stay away long enough for Crowley, he needed him and he wasn’t going to leave him now.

“I’m not made of glass, darling, I had it handled.”

Crowley clung to him tighter.

“I saw you on the ground… and the hunter was over you…I was so afraid I lost you…”

“That was my fault, dearest, bringing my wings to physical plane and doing the ‘be not afraid’ shtick is a bit…much with another form growing inside me.” 

“Never scare me like that again!” Crowley began to scold pushing himself up to look fiercely into Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale gave him a playful smile and a kiss on the nose before taking a large yawn.

“I shalt not, my love,” he promised with another kiss on the cheek before allowing Crowley to catch him as he fell into the darkness once more to regain his energy.

He would wake the next morning wrapped tightly in blankets with a demon latching firmly to him with no chance in the foreseeable future of him letting go.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE END at long last ;.; this wasn't supposed to be this long, I got carried away.

“Me partner went utterly mad months ago after an encounter with a demon and I just feel its right to turn to a higher order. Turn my sights on a higher power then I, a mere mortal could ever hope to live up to, to save myself from a horrid after life.”

Sally, who had been locked in a trunk for nearly two days and given a lot of time to think on things before the authorities finally released her after Spike had been committed to an asylum, was about to make a very hefty decision. She was joining a convent. She remembered when she was a lass her mother often wanted her to become a nun to keep her from sin after hearing about the cruel things, she did on the school grounds and had made the decision to step into that life after Mista Crowley. After what the demon had done to Spike, he had always been quick tempered and had never been the nicest man around but he was always sane. Never rambled about demons or hell or ghouls dragging him to Hell before Mista Crowley and Sally was smart enough to know Spike wasn’t lying about their boss being a servant of Hell.

“It happens, lass,” the Mother of the order said nodding and placing a sympathetic hand on Sally’s, caressing it in an almost intimate way on the desk’s surface, “Men are always falling to the folly of the demons around us and no one can escape sin.”

“I figured I’m already damned crossing paths with the demon, might as well secure a lifeboat to keep from drowning in fiery lakes and all that.”

The mother smiled a wicked smile on an otherwise gentle and old face, the kind of face any kind granny had that passed out sweets to all the little children.

“The right place indeed, lass, the chattering order of St. Beryl is the perfect place to turn to get on Satan’s nice list. You will be in his personal quarters as one of his many brides when yer soul sinks to Hell.”

Sally knew she was damned, had been since the first time she stabbed a man, first time she stole a quaint little family’s last penny seducing the easily led astray father. She didn’t need to shake Mista Crowley’s hand to know that but since she had, she knew there was no turning to Jesus for this. If you can’t beat them join, join them as the yanks said.

“It don’t matter I’m not a virgin, right? Satan ain’t gonna be offended?”

The Satanic Mother laughed; a full wicked chortle Sally was sure she practiced for hours to get just right. She continued to hold Sally’s hand and gave it a sweet little kiss that made even someone like Sally blush.

“I see you are gonna be good for a laugh, Sally my girl!”

;

Aziraphale, true to his word, had helped Shadwell get a new flat in a cleaner neighborhood just north of Soho. Crowley hadn’t allowed Aziraphale to spend too much on the witch hunter, it wasn’t a Penthouse as Crowley lived and it was no where near as comfortable as Aziraphale’s shop, but it was a step above renting a room with nothing but a bed.

He had his own bath area now and Crowley had told him the nastiest way possible on the drive to his new flat he expected him to bathe regularly now.

If Crowley could pinpoint the one thing he loved most about Aziraphale and yet the one thing that made him fear for Aziraphale’s safety, it would be his kindness. Most would have expected any angel to just give second chances and naively give trust to enemies, but most angels had foresight not to do such things. This was something unique to his angel, it was the thing that lead him to shielding demons from rain and giving a helping hand to witch hunters who tried to kill him.

Crowley’s greatest flaw was he just tended to go along with his angel’s good will instead of putting his foot down.

He knew in his heart if the angel were to tell his older siblings about foolish decisions like this, he would get more then a strongly worded note. Gabriel would stomp his foot down hard cutting off his sibling’s miracles once more to keep him from just giving sinful mortals help.

Maybe it was in Crowley’s rebellious nature, but he just loved the thought he was doing the opposite of what an angel would do in this situation.

Shadwell didn’t own many worldly possessions; he didn’t need help moving in nor did he have any people who tolerated him enough to throw him a welcome party. Yet, Crowley found himself assisting the man on moving day. He had even insisted to his angel he would help the man, promising on his damned soul he would make sure everything went smoothly.

Crowley felt he had done a lifetime worth of niceties for Shadwell allowing him to sit in his beloved car at all after his disgusting hands touched his family. The fact he let him live was the greatest miracle he would ever bestow him and even allowing his angel to hire him as ‘intelligence’ well that was generosity in its finest.

He owed Shadwell nothing, in fact he would never receive kindness as this from Crowley again and he was only here to make sure he understood that. To instill the fear of Hell into him.

“Don’t be expecting no thank yous, Mista Crowley,” Shadwell sneered at him gathering his sole suitcase and testing Crowley further throwing the Bentley’s door open with enough force to make it creek.

“By all means then, don’t even think of it as generosity,” Crowley said turning a stoic face Shadwell’s way, he grabbed the man’s arm before he could get out. 

“I won’t say it again so listen well, sergeant.”

Shadwell’s heartbeat sped and the blood drained from his face, momentarily he couldn’t breath as the sunglasses were pulled off with one swift motion revealing the monster eyes underneath. The heat rose nearly and the man hissed dropping his suitcase feeling the once cool steal handle sizzle his flesh. The hair on the back of his neck rose hearing the bellows of the damned echoing from somewhere underneath him.

“Touch my family again and witches will be the last thing you fear. The souls in the deepest lairs of Hell will look to you in sympathy after I spend eons torturing you. Taking my time until sanity was nothing but a distant memory for you if you even touch a single one of his angelic curls.”

With that the door slammed, throwing Shadwell back landing hard on his ass as Crowley’s Bentley sped away.

Even with a pounding heart and fear clinging to his soul, Shadwell found the stubbornness to curse about the demon.

;

It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale changed his gender, he had done his fair share of horrid and tedious work in nun covenants for heaven, after all. 

This change wasn’t going to last anywhere near as long though, this was just for tonight. Just for a lovely evening picnic under an explosion of fireworks.

Humans were rather horrid to things they didn’t accept, and it was sad that it wasn’t just Heaven and Hell they often had to hide their love from. It was always hiding in some way and changing his appearance was just one of the many things that were sadly necessary if he wished to enjoy a lovely evening with someone he loved in the public eye.

His form now wasn’t too different from the normal one he donned, he was just plumper in the thighs and breasts and a foot shorter. Crowley had bought him a lovely blue blouse that sparkled like the stars and a matching skirt just for tonight saying he wished to show him off while he was able.

Last he had presented as feminine, makeup was looked down upon, they had a silly notion Jesus wouldn’t approve. Aziraphale hadn’t been at all pleased to find himself locked up without supper for three nights by the mother when he tried to point out their fallacy. He had told Gabriel who found it rather amusing and said he should keep it up, the mother superior was doing him a favor.

This night, however, Crowley wouldn’t mind his makeup, nor would he object to Aziraphale indulging a little too much in the food he had packed that he was sure. For a demon, he was usually a great deal nicer than most holy men and angels Aziraphale dealt with. He knew it wasn’t the norm and he wouldn’t push his luck trying to befriend other demons, but it always felt rather nice to be in the company of another odd ball of the group so to say. Two of a kind, Aziraphale liked to think.

He sent a silent prayer to Her as he stood outside the shop watching the Bentley finally make its appearance, thanking her immensely for placing him in duty of the garden and allowing him the opportunity to meet the serpent of Eden.

“Happy November 5th, my love,” Aziraphale greeted placing a kiss on Crowley’s cheek as he got out to open the door for him and take heavy large basket.

“You shouldn’t lift so much with the baby,” Crowley groused taking a moment to tenderly caress the angel’s stomach greeting the baby first making that warmth of love flow through Aziraphale. The streets were empty, nothing lurked in the shadows and no divine light to worry of tonight. 

Aziraphale hummed in response to his worry and held his cheek out a little making Crowley’s nostril flare a moment before he kissed it without much fanfare. The angel looked on cloud nine as he slid in the passenger seat for the first time since the Bentley had come into their lives.

;

Crowley was particularly protective of his family as he parked the car on the side of the road near an old riverbank. The lorries weren’t the most respectful on this interstate even with families crossing the street to get to the park on the other side of the road. It was partially Crowley’s fault; he had put that worm into drivers’ heads to speed and cause casualties but that wasn’t going to be happening tonight. He put his hand out, bringing a halt to a line of trucks and held Aziraphale close crossing the street. 

It felt freeing to hold Aziraphale’s hand and no one batted an eye as they settled by the bay watching the children cast lines into the river. Crowley assisted his angel setting up the blanket and setting out the snacks, both bickering to each other about what was and wasn’t necessary.

Crowley knew Aziraphale could protect himself, it was never out of distrust, but fear. He feared losing the angel sitting across from him partaking in his third helping of food as they waited for the fire works to start.

Crowley sighed, leaning back and pouring another glass of wine to relax his nerves watching the crowds of people stomp by their blanket. No one so much as batted an eye towards them but he was cautious none the less.

“I know its not quite that kind of holiday,” Aziraphale began making Crowley turn away from his wine and give his attention back to him, scooting closer to him on the blanket as Aziraphale pulled something from the basket.

Crowley frowned taking the tartan thermos Aziraphale practically thrust into his hands. He turned it in his hand, questioning him silently with a stare.

“The holiest, my love,” Aziraphale confirmed chuckling as Crowley buried his head into his lap once more, mumbling thanks he never wanted to be heard into his fat stomach where only their child could hear properly.

“Your welcome, my love,” Aziraphale whispered softly kissing Crowley’s head as another spectacular round of fireworks went off in the sky. 

“Just promise me, my darling that you will never open it.”

Crowley placed a kiss on his stomach as their child began fretting as Aziraphale’s anxiety built up. He couldn’t promise he would never need to open the container, so he didn’t. Instead he just held his family close and closed his eyes smiling at Aziraphale’s excited gasps at the fireworks.

Even after six thousand years, Aziraphale would always be that sweet angel who willingly gave away his sword and took in everything, even his mortal enemy, with wonder and love. Crowley would kill before he ever lost what he held in his arms now.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you were wondering, the coffee house is an actual old pub in soho.


End file.
